


Timestamp: Winter

by Tenoko1



Series: It Started with a Fanfic Competition [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Caregiving, Coming Out, Depression, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Romance, Service Dogs, Timestamp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 20:00:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15915246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tenoko1/pseuds/Tenoko1
Summary: Dean was never under the illusion things would be easy, but that didn't mean he knew what to do when things got hard, either.While things like mental health issues and coming out can feel impossible, 'family' means never being alone.Also, there are dogs. Dogs help, right? Dean hopes so.





	Timestamp: Winter

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for suicide mention.
> 
>  

“I don’t know what to do,” Dean admitted with a glance at his closed bedroom door. He regarded his laptop screen.

    Sam and Charlie were looking at each other.

    “Isn’t he seeing a therapist?” Sam asked.

    Charlie scowled. “So are _many_ wounded vets and people with depression and PTSD, Sam. It’s _not_ a magic cure.”

    “I was just _asking_. To _stop_ seeing her would understandably be part of the reason Cas, uh,…” He looked at Dean in apology.

    “Won’t leave his bed?”

    “Yeah,” he agreed feebly. “That.”

    He scowled at him and Sam flinched.

    “Dean, don’t get defensive and protective,” said Charlie. “We want to help, too. We knew his depression and PTSD would, most likely, get worse. It was a reasonable question about Dr. Grey if he’s refusing to eat or leave his bed. And this doesn’t mean you’ve done anything wrong. It just means we need to regroup on the matter. She may need to adjust his meds.”

    He dropped his gaze, plucking at the hem of his sleeve. “I just feel like I should have been able to do something. See it coming. Stop it.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I feel like my hands are tied.I don’t know how to help him.”

    “Have you tried the ‘do it for me’ card?” Sam wondered. Dean glared. “What?”

    “That’s an underhanded trump card I would only use to try and get him to go outside or something.” He shook his head. “I’ve just been using Dorothy’s rules for ‘The Care and Feeding of a Charlie’.”

    She blinked rapidly. “The rules for what now?”

    “Guys. What do I do?”

    “Call Dr. Grey,” Sam said. “Maybe Cas needs some Skype sessions with her.”

    “You need to talk to her, too,” Charlie insisted. "Explain from your perspective how things are."

Dean watched Sam’s hand flex and reach out before he pulled it back, unable to touch his brother. “He’s gonna be _fine_ , Dean.” He tilted his head. “How are _you_?”

He bit his bottom lip unsure how to answer. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was being asked.

How was he being so far away from the bunker and Sam? Not great, actually, despite daily phone calls and Skyping. He missed them all, but especially Sam. He was reliving that same constant anxiety he'd felt when Sam left for Stanford.

How was he with his new out-of-the-closet status? Yeah, that was a disaster he was working on.

How was he regarding dating Cas? That was also a complicated mess. Made worse by Cas being in such a rollercoaster of mental state.

“Adjusting,” he decided, forcing his features into a tight smile.

Sam’s brow furrowed deeper. His anxious look to Charlie rankled Dean. He didn’t want to cause problems. Sam and Charlie both had their hands full with the Men of Letters. It was Dean’s fault he couldn’t just… straighten up and get it together. He needed to fix this and make things smooth instead of the rocky… whatever they were currently dealing with. It was better for everyone if he could.

“I… may have an idea,” Charlie admitted, the words drawn out. Green eyes slid to him. “I have a friend that might can help, but this’ll definitely be one of those things where it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission.”

“I’m listening.”

 

After his phone call with Sam and Charlie, anxiety had Dean on his feet. Despite the snow outside, the cabin was warm. It was far more enticing to stay inside. There was a low fire in the fireplace, the downstairs inviting.

    Dean never thought he could get so attached to a place, but he loved the cabin. It was airy and cozy. Something about it unwound his nerves, let him breathe out and relax. It was probably their setting that had helped him most, if he were honest. He didn’t know if he could have done this new out-of-the-closet status in the bunker. Not feeling like other people were watching him be ineffectual, trying (and failing) to date when he had no reference for it aside from Lisa-- which had not been healthy or a good example to draw from.

    He knocked on Cas’ bedroom door, slipping inside when there was no answer.

    Cas’ plate from breakfast was on the nightstand next to the low bed, the scrambled egg sandwich half-eaten. That was something, at least.

    Castiel’s bed was earthy, a comforter of sage and white, with a pile of pillows in the same check material or shades of blue. Dean liked Cas’ room. It was cozy. Even with the large windows, he never felt exposed, instead like it were a haven. The illusion that nothing outside the walls was real or significant enough to be bothered with.

    Maybe that was why Castiel had sequestered himself in it.

    The bed was practically a nest, with the lump to the left side of it Castiel, his messy hair the only thing Dean could see from the door.

    “Cas?” When the head moved, Dean edged around the side of the bed until blue eyes stared at him. He smiled. “Morning, Sunshine. Ready to get up?”

    “No.”

    “Yeah, that looks comfortable enough I’d want to stay, too.” Rubbing his arm, his eyes slid to the opposite corner of the bed. “I, uh… I was actually thinking about taking a nap myself. You, uh,” he dared a glance, “you mind some company?”

    He held his breath as Castiel blinked in surprise and confusion, the first emotions he’d seen from him in days.

    Since becoming human a few weeks ago, Cas had his good days and bad (sometimes hours)- like anybody. Unlike most others though, Cas’ bad days set a new standard by which no one should have to measure. It was further complicated because Castiel didn’t know how to express what was wrong and Dean didn’t know how to help him. It felt like when they’d first met and hardly spoke the same language, that struggle to understand each other.

But maybe language wasn’t needed.

    Shifting around so his head was more visible, Castiel nodded.

    Dean mirrored it, willing away the thundering of his pulse as he swallowed and moved to the other side of the bed.

    Laying down on top of the covers would scream his awkwardness about the situation, but getting under them felt too intimate. _He was crawling into Cas’ bed._ That was… big. Weird. New.

    Drawing in a breath through his nose, he blew it out as he drew back the comforter and slipped into bed, the navy sheets cool beneath him. He could do this. It wasn’t any different than letting Cas or Charlie come to him. It was weird and awkward and uncomfortable, but, as Castiel rolled over to regard him with blinking blue eyes, he also thought it might be necessary.

    “Hi.”

    “Hi.”

    “You okay?” Castiel shook his head. “Do you want to talk about it?” His gaze fell and he shook his head again.

Dean scooted further into Cas’ space, hyperly aware of their proximity beneath the blankets and curling toward him, their knees almost touching. He reached out, curling Cas’ hand in his own. Castiel looked at him again.

“I’m going to make soup later, will you help me?”

The hesitation in his answer made Dean’s stomach drop and he gave Cas’ hand a squeeze.

“Okay,” he agreed.

Dean smiled. “Good. Maybe after, we can watch a movie.” When Cas said nothing, Dean smiled and closed his eyes. “Good night, Cas.”

 

Dean slept longer than expected, comfortable as he was and nerves unwound.

    Disorientation hit him as he pushed to a sitting position, still sleep groggy, the comforter around his waist and a dark head of hair on the pillow next to his. His body locked in place, blood running cold.

    Then he looked again, the present washing away vague memories of hangovers and a shame-filled morning after, of scrambling to find his clothes and grabbing his money off the counter as he’d dashed out the door.

    Castiel was asleep, lines of his face relaxed. He looked younger. Dean thought it was from the smile curling his mouth in his sleep.

    Part of him hoped Cas was dreaming about him, but anything that made him happy made Dean happy. He suddenly missed that smile in the waking world and grinned because he’d tentatively agreed to help with dinner earlier-- not that Dean needed help-- and that was practically as good as a date.

    “Cas. Wake up.” The smile was replaced with a frown and a low sound of discontent, making him smile wider as he moved to the edge of the bed and stood. “C’mon, Cas. Get up, sleepy.”

    Growling, Cas turned onto his back, arms pulling to the sides in a stretch before flopping down and showing no signs of waking up soon.

A bubbling playfulness made Dean bite his bottom lip before coming around and unceremoniously lifting a leg to plop back down onto the low bed straddling Cas’ hips.

Blue eyes flew open in surprise. “Oof!”

Dean’s grin stretched wide. “Morning, Sunshine.”

Sighing out a breath, Cas’ hands moved to settle on his hips, eyes sliding shut again. “Dean.” A scowl that wasn’t _really_ angry. “That’s a terribly rude way to wake someone.”

“Surprises are the _best_ way to wake someone,” he argued, feeling cheeky and playful and wonderfully distracted by the thumbs rubbing paths into his skin beneath the hem of his shirt.

“Well,” Cas drawled, eyes giving Dean a thorough once-over that made his entire body go hot, “you’re not wrong.”

“And here I thought _I_ was cheeky.”

His brow arched, chin lifting as the challenge in his eyes, the want, made Dean’s breath hitch. “ _You’re_ cheeky. I’m straight-forward.”

Dean had caught glimpses of the look before, flickers he wasn’t sure he was misinterpreting or if they’d even been there, but he’d never been the full focus of it. Lust and want were two things Dean understood, seeing someone and thinking of all the things to wanted to do with them or to them, but this was something else entirely.

Cas _loved_ him. That was the dominant emotion clear in his face and eyes, with attraction and lust coming secondary, but utterly entwined. All of it was completely unguarded like Dean had never seen. It left him feeling wide-open and exposed, making something clench tight in his chest and throat.

When Castiel blinked, the look shifted, heat cooling but faint amusement and open affection remained. It made the seizing of his chest almost painful and Dean leaned forward, bracing himself on his forearm as he cupped the side of Cas’ jaw and covered his mouth with his.

Cas hand drifted from Dean’s hip to his thigh, rubbing and then squeezing it gently as their mouths moved.

Dean was tempted-- so, _so_ tempted-- to press boundaries. As hard and scary as this was, scarier still was how easy Dean could fall into if he let himself. Standing on the edge of that cliff was terrifying.

He also knew the after-fall was the the real danger. Knew years worth of conditioning and habit might hit him all at once, that he might panic and ruin everything. That possibility was what he was really avoiding.

Why was every aspect of their lives now scary in ways they had no context for how to deal with? Both of them were stumbling blind and supporting the other when they didn’t know how to support themselves.

What a mess they were. But, stumbling steps forward was better than the years worth of running away he’d done.

More important, Dean hadn’t come to Cas’ room for that. Hadn’t come for any reason than to reach out and be there, to fix things however Cas would let him.

Breaking kiss, Dean pressed his mouth to the pulse of Cas’ throat. Castiel tilted his head back and Dean had to tamp down that part _so very_ tempted. The part that wanted to kiss Cas without holding back, to suck a mark into his skin, to bite the tendon of his neck, fingers in his hair, to grind down--

He _wanted_.

The difference now was he could admit it in the privacy of his own head, even if he wasn’t ready to act on it.

Being able to admit and accept the feeling didn’t make the timing any better or ideal.

Charlie had made him read on the subject of sex in healthy and unhealthy relationships.

He sat up, smiling at he jerked his head toward the bathroom. “Get up, sleepyhead. Go take a shower--”

“Are you trying to tell me something?”

“--you’ll feel better,” he chuckled. “Then it’s comfort clothes, comfort soup, and I’d kinda like to get you on the couch.”

Squinting, Cas cocked his head. “Was that a euphemism?”

He laughed, low and throaty, before pressing another kiss to Castiel’s mouth. “It wasn’t meant as one, no. Consider it me being needy.”

“You aren’t _‘needy’_.” Dean thought it was only Cas’ hands occupied on his thigh and under his shirt that kept him from doing finger quotations.

He lifted a shoulder and dropped it. “Okay, fine. I _am_ kind of stupid crazy for you, though, so I would love it if you’d agree to a date with me this evening. Food and pajama attire ain’t a bad deal, just sayin’.”

The smile he got was crooked, but genuine, and it made Dean’s anxiety ease just a little.

“Who could turn down such an enticing offer?”

Moving to his feet, Dean grabbed the plate from breakfast and winked at him. “See you in a bit.”

Later, when cooking ground beef in a skillet, Dean looked over when Cas stepped out of the hallway. His hair was mostly dry, sort of wild like he’d run his hand through it, but he was dressed in fresh clothes (a little big on him) and he offered Dean a half-smile as he came out of his room for the first time in a couple of days.

That was something, at least.

 

Weeks later, jittery energy had Dean all but bouncing on his toes outside the front door of the cabin trying to psyche himself up go in.

    He wasn’t sure if he was stepping on a landmine, or if he’d _already_ stepped on it and this would be him taking his foot off for the potential explosion.

    “Buck up, Winchester,” Claire ordered, shifting her weight and the bundle she carried. Her bag hung off one shoulder. “If this is a complete disaster, it’s not totally unfixable. Plus, I’m here. That makes everything better. Hurry up, it’s _cold_.”

    Swallowing, he gave a jerky nod and slipped into the house.

    The sight of Cas sitting on the couch brought him up short.

    “Cas,” he blurted. The other man looked up from his Kindle as Dean closed the door. “I, uhh... hey.”

    “Hello, Dean.” He smiled as he set the device aside. “I was wondering where you disappeared to.”

    “Yeah, I, uh, had to go run an errand to pick something up.” Cas squinted and looked at his empty hands, then back up, head tilting quizzically. Swallowing, Dean grabbed the door handle, pulling it open and allowing the red creature to curiously make her way inside. Cas eyes went wide, brows raised to his hairline. Dean gestured feebly. “I got you a dog. Don’t be mad.”

    Leaning forward to coax the animal forward with a pro-offered hand, Cas laughed and looked at him in confusion. “What kind of follow up is that? ‘I got you a present, don’t be angry’?” The Pomeranian jumped onto the couch, settling herself into a sitting position next to him as Cas scratched behind her ears and she considered her new settings.

    Dean wanted to sigh in relief she'd gone straight to him. He'd been communicating with them back and forth regarding Cas and had even sent them some of Cas' clothes to familiarize her with his scent. He'd no idea if it would work, but seeing her sitting beside him like she knew and was ready to be there, it made him sag with bone-melting relief .

    “I got you another surprise.”

    “Is it another dog?”

    Dean opened his mouth and then promptly bit back the bitch joke and just opened the door instead.

    Claire stepped inside, passing off the leash to him and waving to Castiel in greeting. “Hi, Cas. Dean, where do I put my stuff?” she questioned, climbing the stairs to the loft.

    “Bedroom on the left.”

    He redirected his attention to Cas examining the tag affixed to the simple collar.

    “Bee.” She snapped her head in his direction, ears at attention. Cas looked at him. “Did you name her?”

    Coming forward, Dean knelt to the floor, hands on Castiel’s knees. Cas spread his legs to afford him room and Dean shuffled forward, hands on Cas' thighs.

      “Her name was just serendipity. And part of how I picked her out.” Dean tore his eyes away to regard the dog sitting prim and proper by Cas’ side. “She’s part of a program-- f-for therapy and service dogs. Charlie and Jody both knew some people and,” he waved over his shoulder, “there’s a whole thing now. Sam’s getting a service dog for his PTSD, depression, nightmares, all that-- a frikkin’ corgi-- and then Claire and Alex are going to be part of a dog rehabilitation and training program for high-risk for euthanasia dogs, and basically the MOL is gonna have a dog program or something now. Garth’s also involved. I don’t know.” His eyes played over the lines and angles of Cas’ face trying to read him. “I just… I thought you might…” He looked at Bee, with her red fur and black-tipped ears. “She kinda looks like a fox, right? We can finish her training ourselves. She already knows you. She’s housebroken and has the basics--”

    Grinning, Cas grabbed his sweater and drew him forward. “You’re rambling, Dean,” he murmured, smiling as he covered his mouth with his, silencing the nervous babble.

    The kiss was soft and sweet, lingering, as was the look Cas gave him when they parted: pure, open affection shining through his eyes. “I’m kind of stupid crazy for you.”

    Dean grinned. “Lucky me.”

 

The sun had mostly set, leaving the landscape a silhouette of trees outside Cas’ bedroom. He sat comfortably settled against pillows and the headboard, the lamp on the nightstand affording him comfortable reading light. Bee was settled by his side, occasionally snuffling and sighing as she kept her eyes on the door, ears swiveling to each new sound.

    While part of him wanted to be hurt that Dean thought he would need the aid of a service dog, he couldn’t find it in himself to take it as a failure on his part. He was only moved by the consideration and generosity, that Dean had seen a problem and gone to such lengths to help Castiel in whatever form he could.

One day, Cas was going to marry that man.

Dean just didn’t know it yet.

There was a knock on the door that made him look up from his book. Bee’s head lifted, ears forward.

“Come in.”

Claire poked her head in the door with a wary glance around.

It was a habit he’d noticed but wasn’t sure she was aware of. Dean did the same thing. An unconscious checking of all corners and exits. She was very much like him.

“Hello, Claire.” He set aside his book and gestured to the bed.

She settled herself, legs crossed. “I like the house.”

He regarded her sweatpants with curiosity. 'Hunter in training' was written down the leg. Patterned thermal sleeves emerged from a t-shirt that had a mermaid and the words ‘Salty bitch’ on it. Human style would never make sense.

“Did you get settled in? How long are you staying?”

“Just a few days.” She lifted one brow high. “Sam, by the way, is sulking he _still_ hasn’t been able to see the house for himself.”

“It's only been a couple of months. He’s more than welcome to come.”

“Oh, he knows, but I think he’s wanting to run away from all the meetings and work they’re doing getting the MOL into a functioning operation. He’s been working _non-stop_ and is feeling overwhelmed. Dorothy has to tell him to go to bed or else he’d be up until the next day trying to... I don't know, get the new computers and software running and debugged in a single night.” She smirked. “I have the feeling Dorothy and Rowena set aside their differences to make sure he sleeps regularly. Homebrew tea and very reasonable arguments have been involved.”

Claire and Bee stared at each other, the dog’s tail thumping tentatively against his thigh.

Cas motioned. “You can pet her if you want.”

She shook her head. “Bee’s a working dog, not a pet. Other people don’t pet them. I don’t want to teach her to expect or want it when she’s working.”

Claire bowed her head, curls spilling over her shoulder as she picked at her bottom lip. He waited, watching her eyes and the way her mind was turning over with an internal debate.

Something had been on her mind since she'd entered the cabin. He had seen it in the way she jerked her gaze from his, busying herself and avoiding his eye.

Whatever it was, he suspected it was the primary reason for her visit, but Bee had been the convenient excuse she’d needed.

“Cas, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Claire. Always.”

Her mouth opened, faltered, then clicked shut. She drew in a breath and tried again. “You knew my dad pretty well, right?” She made a vague motion with her hand and a wriggle of fingers. “With the whole vessel bit?”

“I did not purposefully pry, but yes, I knew much of your father’s memories and thinking, as well as he and I having numerous conversations before his passing.”

“When he got killed.”

“We both did.”

She flushed, a tinge of pink high on her cheeks. He was under no illusions forgiving him for what happened to her family wasn’t something she had to do frequently. He would apologize as often as he needed to.

“I’m not mad _at you_ , y’know,” she clarified.

“Yes, you are,” he countered. “And that’s okay.”

She glared. “No, it isn’t! I’m mad _at the situation_. I’d be mad at you if you took my dad as a vessel for selfish reasons, without caring what it did to the rest of us, and maybe you didn’t care at first, but you also didn’t understand. Once you learned about us and understood us, you’ve never _stopped_ caring. You want me to be mad you were trying to save the world and my dad got killed in the crossfire, but he also agreed to help get you as far as he could and _you_ died _right alongside him_. I’m not mad at you for that-- even if I am mad!”

Bee’s hackles rose, body shifting as a growl emanated from her.

Claire settled, body slumping and hands in her lap. Cas placed a hand on the dog’s back and silence fell into the space left behind. Claire picked at her nails.

“My family was very religious and devout,” she said. “My mom was… stricter about it, I guess, than my dad. They were that way about everything, honestly. Her rigid and particular. And Dad… Dad was always laid-back and sure everything would work out as it was meant. He was always telling her to relax and that things would be fine. Everything always had to be perfect with mom. I think she was a bit OCD, actually. She would get so upset and Dad would have to physically intervene and drag her away from, I don’t know, cleaning the kitchen until it looked brand new because Grandma was coming to visit. She wanted everything perfect. The house. Us. _Me_. I think it’s why I was always more drawn to my dad.”

She looked up sharply. “I loved them both. I’m not saying otherwise. Just… my dad and I were a lot closer.” When he nodded, she dropped her gaze again, plucking at her sweatpants. “He use to read with me. Play board games. Tell me I was going to grow up to be someone _great_.” She snorted. “Bet he never imagined my life like this.”

Worrying her lip between her teeth, she continued, “I worked a case recently, a couple of weeks ago, where I had to go undercover into juvie. Ghost that was making kids commit suicide. Wasn’t hard, but took a couple of days.” She laughed, and it held the sharp edge of a painful memory parading itself as humor. “I met… this girl. Kaia. Kaia Nieves. In for drug possession and other drug-related charges. She’s kind of an addict, actually-- but she has good reason.” She waited until he nodded before she continued. “Turns out, Kaia is what’s called a Dreamwalker, but surprise, surprise, had no idea the supernatural exists or anyone to help train her in how to use it, so all she _has_ is the horrible ability to see a really _awful_ place.

    “...I may have broken her out with me so she could come to the bunker. If anyone could help her, I figured we could. If nothing else, I figured she’d have a safe place to live and learn about herself. She doesn't have any family and she’s… she’s really special. I couldn’t _not_ , but all I can think about lately is how much I am _nothing at all_ like my parents-- what my _dad--_ wanted for me.”

    When she fell silent again, Castiel said nothing. He wasn’t an expert on human interactions, but he’d learned a lot. He’d learned even more from his visitations with Dr. Grey-- the feeling of unloading the truth and how some truths were heavier than others, a weight you had to prepare yourself for, had to work up to because it took every last ounce of strength to let the words spill from your lips.

    He’d gone through it several times. Kept secrets so close to his heart, clutched them so desperately that finally letting them go, revealing what had become a wound, had been nearly impossible. Admitting aloud his feelings for Dean, his desire to be human, to _live_. Those were the greatest shames an angel could have. While his angelic brethren had already rejected him, tortured him for those truths, he’d never admitted to them. Never had the strength. Once admitted, they were out there and had to be addressed head-on rather than continuing to deny or hide them.

    Claire bit her bottom lip so hard he thought it might bleed. “Cas…” Her gaze flicked up to his. She looked so young and scared it hurt. “I’m gay.” Her fragile mask of composure shattered, mouth wobbling and eyes welling with tears. Her voice was wet and cracked as she asked, “Would he be mad?”

    He sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh Claire, _no_. No, no, no,” he crooned as she turned her face away, hastily wiping at her eyes. “Your dad loved you unconditionally and would only be proud of you. Monsters, hunting, Kaia-- anything and everything. There’s nothing that could make him _not_ love you.” He wanted to hug her, wanted to offer that comfort, but, like Dean, she would only resent the action and shut down. They were too much alike at times. “I’m sorry you’ve kept this to yourself for so long ever thinking otherwise.”

    She swiped her fingers under her eye, face turned away from him. “Doesn’t matter anyway. It’s not like he’s here if it did bother him.”

    He wondered how many times she’d told herself that. It sounded familiar on her tongue.

    “For what it’s worth: I’m proud of you.” A wet laugh bubbled out of her and mixed with a suppressed sob. “And I’m glad you came to me about this.”

    She snorted. “Yeah, well, you are my _uncle_ , after all. Only relative I have left.”

    “But not your only family.”

    Her eyes were red-rimmed and smile one-sided when she turned to him. “...Thanks, Cas.”

    “Of course.”

    She pushed to socked feet, thumb over her shoulder as she drifted toward the door. “I’m… I’m gonna go to bed. Sorry for interrupting your book.” He waved away the apology and she hesitated at the door, considering Bee. Casting a glance over her shoulder, she lowered her voice, “By the way? Dean _really_ loves you. He has been _obnoxious_ with worry about getting you that dog. Everything from finding you the perfect one, worrying if you would like her, what all she would need to learn to do, how to train her, if you would be offended, and everything else you can _possibly_ imagine: _he_ has _worried about it_.” One artful brow swept up high. “He loves you. _A lot_.” A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “...I’m really happy for both of you.”

    “Thank you.”

    “G’night, Cas.”

    “Good night, Claire.”

 

The air was crisp as they walked the trail through the fir trees. Dean kept looking down at Bee resolutely walking on Castiel’s right side, her down jacket and tiny boots both ridiculous looking and bizarrely adorable.

    Gloved hand in his, Cas seemed content. He kept closing his eyes and drawing in a deep breath through his nose, holding it as a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.

    Dean said nothing, just walked beside him and didn’t let go.

    This was something he’d finally coaxed Castiel into, going on walks through the woods surrounding the cabin, and since then, Cas had made it almost habitual, same as his yoga and meditation. That, combined with his new meds, had really helped him become more like himself.

    And Dean liked when they went on walks together. He liked when they weren’t talking, just the crunch of snow underfoot and Cas’ hand in his. He even liked Bee’s diligent trot beside them.

    Of course, anyone loyal and protective of Cas was quick to worm their way into Dean’s good graces.

    “How would you feel about going on a cruise?” Cas wondered.

    “Pretty confident about it.”

    He slid him a glance from the corner of his eye. “Even if it meant flying to the port city?”

    Dean grimaced. “I’m feeling _less_ confident.”

    Smiling, Cas squeezed his hand and promised, “I’d never leave your side.”

    “For _you_ , I would endure it.”

    “We could lay out on the beach and go swimming again. Try new foods and buy souvenirs.” Dean let out a throaty chuckle, head leaned back. Cas’ smile was wistful. “Charlie says there are formal dinners and ballrooms…” Dean looked over to find Cas studying him. “Would you dance with me? Were we to go?”

    Stopping, Dean tugged at Cas’ hand, drawing him in and snaking an arm around him. His eyes darted over Cas’ features before holding his gaze. He'd forgotten about Charlie teaching him to dance and their frequent twirls and waltzs in the bunker. Never considered it might be something Cas really enjoyed doing instead of just indulging her.

    “Cas, there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you. All you have to do is ask.”

    “Would you _want to_ , though?”

    The image presented itself in his mind’s eye, the two of them in formal wear slow dancing on a ballroom floor in the center of a formal dining room. Cas would be breathtaking.

    He drew him closer. “I think I’m well overdue for another dance with you,” he murmured against his lips.

    Cas smiled. “Lucky me,” he hummed, before pressing his mouth against Dean’s.

    Standing in the middle of the quiet forest path, snow all around them and a future ahead, Dean thought they were both pretty lucky. Fantastically lucky.

    And he loved every moment of it.

   

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please be kind and properly feed and water your fanwork creators via way of comments and kudos. Knowing time wasn't wasted means a great deal.


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